Sympathy for the Devil
by DreamBrother
Summary: Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name, but what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game. [Dark fic, be warned]


**Author:**DreamBrother

**Summary: **Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name, but what's puzzling you is the nature of my game. [**Dark fic, be warned**

**Disclaimer: **NeitherNumb3rs, nor the song, are mine.

**Author's Note: **I'm in a weird mood, and I've been craving to write a dark fic for ages, and I came across this Rolling Stones song and its' lyrics and bam! Perfect combo.

You have been warned, this is not a happy fic. It's a potential death fic, I'm not sure myself, I haven't written it yet. To all those who review, a million thanks.

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**Sympathy for the Devil**

_-Just as every cop is a criminal_

_A__nd all the sinners saints_

_A__s heads is tail__s;_

_J__ust call me Lucifer_

_Cause I'm in need of some restraint-_

Turning to face the man who was the centre of his attention for the time being, but not for that much longer, he perched himself on the edge of the table, careful not to upset it nor the contents placed on it, and crossed his ankles which were stretched out in front of him. He reached behind him with his hand and fumbled around for what he wanted. Finding it, he brought the leather wallet to the front, flipped it open and surveyed the small metal shield displayed within. He traced his fingers over the embossed _F, B_ and _I_ letters as well as the unique set of numbers -_3695_-. He scoffed. Shield. Fat lot of use it was, in terms of protecting the owner. In most cases, it was what led to the death of the bearer. But not this one, at least not entirely. In this scenario, the man in front of him was a victim of the common blood he shared with a certain someone.

For a moment he wondered what it would have been like to be the one to wear the badge, rather than be the one being chased by those who wielded it. He dismissed the thought almost immediately. Chased was too generous a term. It was more that he led the way and the lawmen followed, and tried to keep up. A balance had to be maintained, and he did his part. Someone had to be the prey, and someone the predator. He was both. To a degree he was hunted, but that would be to imply the predators knew who they were going after. He was careful to leave hardly any evidence, helped by the fact that he had a rare genetic condition which meant he was born without any ridges on his skin i.e. no pesky fingerprints. Had he been someone who believed in a higher power, he would have chalked that up to his being shown his destiny, his fate, his role in the world. He also did a little hunting of his own, evidenced by the tied up man in front of him.

He wouldn't call himself an assassin. It always conjured up mental images of him in black clothing, perhaps a ninja-like mask, atop rooftops with either a long sword at his hip or looking through the sights of a rifle. Nor was he a mercenary, the term was simply too archaic, reminiscent of those times when kings hired lone wanderers to fight on their behalf a war waged only to satisfy their greed with no thought towards the lives of their people; their loyal soldiers. And nobody dared call him a hired gun if they had two brain cells to rub together. A man needed his respect. He was simply… a man offering his services; putting his talents to a use best suited to them.

Seeing that his current prey was rousing, he pulled out a chair and dragged it to a stop in front of the restrained man, straddled it, and crossed his arms and placed them on the chair's back, facing the man.

"Rise and shine, Agent Eppes," said he. Giving the other man a few minutes to get his head in the game, he was soon rewarded with fully alert dark eyes on an uninjured face. The same could not be said for the rest of the agent's body, however. When one of your objectives for abducting a person was to get information from them, that last thing you did was injure their main means of communication, hence not a bruise or a scratch was to be seen on the agent's face, hampering his ability to speak.

"So, for a last shot at a get out of jail free card, how about you tell me now where my employers might find the elusive Dr. Eppes?" he asked.

The agent in front of him licked dry lips before answering, "Which country haven't I said already? Hmm… how about Tanzania? I hear it's nice this time of year, and my brother always hated the cold. He might be there. Let me know if you find him, yeah?" Yes, this agent had mildly surprised him with his knowledge of internationally recognized countries. He'd gotten though the majority of them in the 26 hours of his captivity. Of course, there was also the charm in how, in spite of the amount of pain inflicted on him, he stuck to the same tune. Country upon country upon country; each getting more ridiculous than the previous one. As if the mathematician and his father would be sent into the jungles of Africa for their own protection. The gall some people had, especially at such a pivotal moment in their lives…

"Now, now, let's not have that. You must be running out, surely. Just so we're clear, any chances of you being freed in return for your brother showing up is past, the 25 hour window given to your family is closed. So, last chance to be selfish: where is your brother?"

"Liechtenstein, perhaps?"

He shook his head in amusement; he really couldn't care less whether the agent revealed the doctor's location or not, his pay check remained the same: "I'll be sure to let the powers that be know that. Are you certain you won't reconsider? My employers are quite keen on protecting their assets, which your brother certainly will be. You can be quite sure that he will not be harmed."

A weary acceptance deepened in the agent's eyes as he said, "I'm telling you, Liechtenstein is the way to go. Or was it Luxembourg? My brother, the globetrotter."

"Wow, am I glad I never had any siblings. Pain in the ass till the end, aren't they?" he commented as he got up and approached the table to pick up the item he needed, before making his way back to the agent, twirling the knife in his hands as though it was nothing more than a cheerleader's baton.

"No siblings? You missed out," said the agent, eyes flicking to the knife for a second before meeting his own.

He turned the chair around to properly face the agent, and sat down, leaning forward.

"So, are we listening, hoping against hope, for the sounds of the cavalry arriving in the nick of time to save the hero of the story?" he whispered conspiringly in the agent's ear.

Without waiting for the answer, he brought the knife forward with a strong thrust to drive it home into the agent's heart.

Nobody deserved to die alone. The agent certainly didn't.

But Don Eppes didn't have a choice when it came to whom that somebody would be at his time of dying.

**Khatum (The End)**

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Well that was one interesting experiment. Especially since I was in the weird mood _yesterday,_ and all I am write now is sleepy. Btw, I have no idea what Don's badge number is, I just took his call-number from _Hot Shots_. And I promised Shaolingrrl I wouldn't shoot Don next time I hurt him, so the poor man had to be stabbed.

This was an experiment. I'll try to be subtle next time, 'cause this was total in-your-face, cliche'd darkness.

So, was the experiment a success? I'm off to lala-land, hope I'm not plagued by nightmares. My dream-catcher is somewhat useless. Night night. I sound awfully cheery for someone who just wrote a death fic...


End file.
